Chapter 5

I can smell vanilla and, and cigarette smoke through the scratchy wool of the hood. The vanilla is soft, like maybe an air freshener or candle, but the smoke is heavy. I was shrouded again and I can’t see shit, but I can smell a little bit. We’ve stopped moving. We walked up steps, I tried to count them but it was too hard. We walked on flat land and then more steps and then I could hear some people walking about and hear mumbling.

Then there were more steps. We turned several corners and the hardwood floors turned to carpet. A door was shut and I was forced to sit down.

The shroud is pulled off and I look and see that I’m in a huge bedroom. The bed is on the opposite side of the room and it’s huge. I see a door open that looks like it goes to a closet and another for a bathroom. There are two windows, the blinds are opened just slightly, but there’s not light. It’s already dark out. Everything is plush and white and that light wood color that I have all over my house in Los Angeles. I wanna go home.

Irish guy is sitting behind a desk with his feet up, he’s wearing black, shiny shoes. He takes a drag from his cigarette, holds it for a minute and smoothly blows the smoke out towards me. I’m sitting on the other side of the desk, my hands are still cuffed behind me and there’s a prick on either side of me, one of each of their hands are pressing down on my shoulders and the other holding their guns.

“Wipe his face will you?” Asshole says. “I don’t want blood all over my carpet.

I feel the hood thing roughly scraped over my face and even in my mouth a little. I don’t know which one of the punks does it. I can’t force my eyes off the faggot in front of me. What a pussy. Fucking asshole kidnaps me and Trace because we saw him fucking murder people and now he’s got this poor girl, his own fucking niece, trapped in his basement when she’s got serious mental problems.

I didn’t think this type of shit could really happen, ya know? What a fucking mind trip.

I lick my lips and I still taste blood but not like before. He smiles at me, a sick, thin smile. He doesn’t show his teeth, just curls up the ends of his lips like the sick perverted bastard that he is.

He takes a drag from his cigarette and then stumps it out before blowing the smoke out of his mouth and to the side. “Uncuff him,” He says.

“Boss…” Bernie says.

His stares straight at me, like he’s threatening me, or challenging me, or…seducing me. Oh God, gross. “Uncuff him.”

As they start working to get my cuffs off I don’t move my eyes from the guy. I feel my hands go free and I would try something again, but this time, this time I know if I do, it’ll be the death of me. He pulls out a gun and lays it on the desk with the open end of it facing me.

“Try something.” He dares me, but I don’t move. It’s silent for a moment and finally he shakes his head and breaks his eyes from mine. “Don’t put ideas in her head.”

“What?” I ask, finding it hard to talk.

“Sarah.” He gets a sullen look on his face. “Don’t tell her she’s a psycho. She’s already been through enough.”

“Like keeping her locked up-“

He stands up off of his chair and leans over the desk, spitting in my face as he talks. “Don’t put ideas in her head. If you fucking touch her, or hurt her, or do anything damn thing to her, I’ll fucking do things to you you haven’t even dreamed of. I’ll fucking cut off your dick and feed it to you.” He growls, “Don’t. Mess. With. Her.”

I’m not intimidated by him. By his gun? Yes. By him? No. “Then why did you put us down there with her?”

“She wanted some friends.” He shrugs and eases back down in his chair. “I give her whatever she wants and she tells me everything so if you touch her, talk to her, play with her, anything…she’ll tell me and if she doesn’t like it or I don’t like it, I’m going to make sure as fuck you don’t like it.”

I swallow hard, maybe she won’t be able to help us get out.

“So I guess we’ve got some money business to talk about.” He leans forward and smiles brightly at me. “How much you wanna give me?”

I sigh and lean up against the table too, rubbing my wrist in my hands. “Just…whatever you want. Just please, man, let us out.” I beg. “I won’t press charges. Just get the money and let us go and you wont ever hear from us.”

The three of them start to laugh and I remember that the two fuckers are still right beside me. “Oh, that’s what they all say.” Irish fucker rubs his chin in his hand and narrows his eyes at me. “How much you make a year pretty boy?”

“Depends on the year.” I shrug.

“How much did you make last year?”

“A mil or two.” I lie.

Bernie starts to laugh and smacks me on the shoulder. “Bull shit man, this dude is a fucking celebrity. He’s been around for years. He’s probably got at least almost half a bil up in the bank.”

“How much did you make last year?” He asks me again.

“Ten million.” It’s still a lie, but I guess a more plausible one. I get smacks across the head and I defend myself saying, “I didn’t do a lot last year. I didn’t have a record out and I wasn’t touring!”

“Alright…” The guy says nodding. “We want at least fifty million. For fifty, maybe we’ll let your little friend go.”

This is fucking ridiculous. “What about me?” I ask.

They all laugh again and I feel sick to my stomach. I wonder if he’d get mad if I puked on his fucking desk. Probably would. Probably would beat me up. Or kill me. Maybe I should throw up. “You might as well get comfortable down there with Sarah. You two can become friends.” I feel vomit invade my throat when he turns his voice sugary sweet and nods at me with wide eyes. “Do you like cartoons? If you’re a good kid maybe one day you can have a bed like she does.”

“Fucking sick bastard.” I grit out, almost standing up and beating the shit out of the guy. I’m on the edge of my seat and feel a hand grip my shoulder tightly and bring me back against the chair hard. Fucking shit, this isn’t fucking fair!

Ya know what, God? Fuck you.

Fuck you.

I feel tears form in my eyes and I rub my forehead with my hand and wipe under my eyes a bit. I don’t want them to see me cry. I don’t want them to pick on me or see how weak they’re making me. This isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to happen to me. Like, Tiny went over with me once what to do if some psycho obsessed girl kidnapped me. But these people aren’t like that. These are professionals. They want money. They don’t want sex or love or anything weird like that. They just want cash or a check.

If I die tomorrow, it’s nothing to them.

“Your friend, does he have a lot of money, too?”

Hell fucking no if I’ll let them bring Trace into this shit. The truth is, Trace is a millionaire. He has almost as much as me and not because of what I’ve given him. He’s made fucking awesome business deals, even got into the stock market a few years ago. And when it crashed, for some reason all the shit that he had bought into wasn’t affected like everything else and has bounced back.

He’s such a fucking genius. And right now, I’m not going to let him get blasted like I am. “No. He’s just a friend from when I was a kid. He doesn’t deserve this. You won’t get any money out of him. He doesn’t have any.”

He suddenly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver device. It’s not just any cell phone, it’s mine. He waves it at me and smiles. “You’ve had a few missed calls.” He flips it open and asks, “Who’s Cam?”

“No body.” Fuck no, they will NOT bring her into this.

“Who’s Cam?” He says forcefully. I almost say ‘nobody’ again, but he picks up his gun.

“My girlfriend.” I admit.

“Cameron Diaz.” He nods and I feel sick when I realize he knows who she is. “That’s what Bernie tells me.” His eyes shift upwards for a moment and an amused smile forms on his face. “I never thought your interest in pop culture would come in handy Bernie, but it has.”

“Thanks boss.” Bernie says graciously.

“What about her?” I grit out, still very nervous about bringing her into this. I gulp down my fears though. At least it’s me in this situation and not her. God, they might try to…do something to her.

The guy scoots back in his chair and leans to his left, still holding onto my phone. I hear a draw open. God, they’re gonna pull out a knife and slit my throat.

He pulls out a magazine. It’s Fortune. He slides it to me and on the cover is some old white dude who I’ve never seen before. “Flip to page sixty-three…” He says and pinches his bottom lip with his point fingers.

I flip and cringe when I see her there, smiling, looking fucking amazing. I close my eyes. No, no, don’t do this. I open them when I hear the magazine slide across the table. He picks it up in one hand and reads out loud. “Cameron Diaz, actress, one of the top paid women in Hollywood. Ranks thirty-five mil or more a film.” He drops the magazine carelessly to the floor and smiles, sliding my phone across the desk. He licks his thin lips. “Call her…”

I want to call her. I really do. I want to hear her voice and kiss her and just, oh God. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to tell her what’s going on or have her worry about me. I don’t want to pull her into this hell. I touch the phone. It’s warm where it’s been in that fuckers pocket and hand.

Son of a bitch. I pull my hand back and shake my head, not being able to pull out words to say, not wanting to say anything.

He props the gun up right on the desk and pulls back the lock, smiling. I’m gonna throw up.

I sigh and pull the phone into my hands. Maybe, maybe if I talk to her she’ll tell me the police are already on their way, that they’re about to save us, that she loves me, that she’ll always love me.

I dial and pull the phone up to my ear.

I’m not told any of the things that I want to hear, or that I expect. She’s pissed. She’s fucking livid and she doesn’t even say hello. She just starts right in on me and it makes me want to die. “What the fuck Justin? What the fuck? Where the hell did you two go? Me and Elisha had to eat lunch without you. We thought you’d be back at the hotel, but no! You don’t tell us shit."

I take a breath when she stops bitching me out and I try to say as calmly but as desperately as possible, "Cam, just listen okay?'

“No. What the fuck?!” I close my eyes and rest my hand in my hand, propped up by my elbow on the desk. This is so wrong. Did I really die back there in that little gorge? Is this hell? Is it?

If it is, I’ll probably never know. Torture.

“We aren’t back home Justin!” She says, sounding like my mom did back when I was little and fucked something up. “God, you two could get lost and Elisha is about to have a fucking heart attack. And you haven’t answered your damn phone. Where are you?”

“Cameron! Shut up.” I yell at her. I know her and I know she’s been pissed for the last few hours and has sat by the phone, hoping, wishing, waiting for me to call. She’s been planning out everything, planning out how she was going to make me feel like shit. Well, dammit bitch, I’m not just bailing out on you. I’m…I’m….

I bit my lip and feel the tears breaking out. “Shit baby…” I start to cry hard and I ignore the fact that these fucking ass wipes are laughing at me and bellow out, “We got kidnapped.”

“Fucking bull shit Justin.” She laughs bitterly and I swallow the bit of throw up that came up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Dammit Cameron!” I cry. “They’re asking for money and, and I don’t…” I realize she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t think this shit can really happen. She’s just like I am, fucking clueless. I realize this might be the last time I talk to her. “Go ask the rangers up at Rutensburg they’ll tell you. Look,” I panick. “I love you, ok?”

“Justin…” She’s quiet for a moment and I can’t think of anything to say. Finally ,she says in a harsh whisper, “What...what’s going on?”

“What’s happening? Where’s Trace? Are they alright?” I hear Elisha in the background. God, she’s freaking out. She doesn’t need this. Neither does Cameron. They don’t deserve this shit. Fucking hell.

“Cameron…” I manage to cough out. “God, baby…I don’t even know where I’m at.”

“What…” She chokes. I can hear her now. She’s not crying but she’s panicking. It’s the voice she gets when the paparazzi get really close to the tail of our car and she can’t stop watching them, telling me to make sure I don’t slam on breaks and screaming that they all deserve to die and flipping them off. She’s fucking panicking. “What the hell am I supposed to do Justin!? I can’t do this.”

God, you think I don’t know that? I know you can’t handle this but you’re going to have to. You’re going to have to do something if you ever want to see me again. I want to say that to her, but I don’t. I just try and say her name first, then maybe, maybe I can make some sense and think of something she can do to help. “Cam-“

The phone is snatched from my hand and I look up, terrified as I see the ‘Keem guy give the phone to the guy in white. Oh fucking God.

He smiles at me and says cooly, “Miss Diaz? Yes, this is Patrick.” Patrick, Patrick…what the fuck kind of name is that?! “We’re hanging out with your boyfriend Justin and his friend and, well, see the thing is, you’ve got a lot of money and we, well, we want it.” He laughs a little bit and continues. “So, if you can get together about a hundred and fifty million dollars, we’ll call you back pretty soon and tell you where to drop it off. Oh, and if you don’t cooperate, well, we’ll just have to dispose of them. I really think your pretty boy boyfriend misses you, but if you don’t come through, well, him and his friend might just have to get use to it here. Sorry.” I hear her yelling through the phone, yelling my name but she’s silenced with a flip of the phone.

“You fucking bastard.” I say, but it sounds pitiful through the snot and the tears. I feel so angry, so hurt, so filled with hatred that I probably could snap his neck off.

But I’m too weak. I’m just too God damn weak.

“Ya know, usually we get wannabe drug dealers or S.A. agents of other useless vermin.” He smiles and nods. God, if he fucking smiles at me one more time I’ll...I’ll…Why do I even try? “It’s about damn time we wager with some high class people. I always liked Los Angeles. Everything’s so fake and unreal out there. It’s a real trip.”

I wipe angrily at my face. “You’re gonna be fucking caught. They won’t just let me die out here. They’re gonna fucking kill you.”

His laugh invades me. It soaks up every piece of dignity I have and I know right then and there, if I ever get out of this moment, that laugh will haunt me forever. “Who? Who’s gonna kill me? They don’t give a damn if it’s beyond US borders. You think the South African government gives a shit about me. About you? Do you think they know about me? I’ve been in this fucking business for almost twenty five years. Don’t kid yourself Justin.” He steps from the desk and walks away, further into the bedroom. He takes off his white coat and starts to unbuckle his belt. “I’ve got the control, not you. Take him back down.”

“Same as the other?” Bernie asks. Patrick nods.

“Hands out mate.” Bennie says to me and I subconsciously lift my hands in front of me as he cuffs them. I don’t know what to do. All of my life I’ve had it planned out. I’ve known answers to every situation. I could get out of everything. I could talk my way out of a hole. I could, could make people believe I was a god.

I’m shit. That’s all I am right now. I’m shit with a girlfriend who’s worried about what she has to do and a best friend who’s locked up with a psychotic retarded girl. Maybe I’ve always been shit. Maybe it’s taking this fucking situation and the damn fuckers to show me what I really am.

I’m just a pussy. A pussy with a big pocket.

I think I really am going to throw up this time.